


An Education in the Arts

by wilma_de_worde



Series: A Thousand Apologies [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, 221B Ficlet, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilma_de_worde/pseuds/wilma_de_worde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>221B Ficlet One-off.  William expands his creative endeavours.  Sherlock serves as critic.  Hamish is over it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Education in the Arts

‘Dad-dy…’

‘Will-iam…’

‘You’re not looking!’

‘I _am_ looking; I’m just not looking at _you_.’

‘Sherlock…’

He sighed and rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, John?’

‘Are you ignoring the children again?’

‘No, I’m ignoring the _child_.’ He shot Will a playful glare. ‘Honestly, you and Papa must learn the art of specificity.’ Will giggled as he often did at impromptu vocabulary lessons. Sherlock turned away from the laptop. ‘Alright, darling, what is it?’

The toddler hoisted himself into his father’s lap. ‘Look, Daddy!’

He pulled the greasy paper from his tiny fist, making a point of giving it a thorough appraisal. ‘Let’s see now… Did you draw this?’

‘Uh-huh!’

‘My word, this is fascinating. You’ve really outdone yourself, William. Excellent use of colour, superb composition… Tell me, is this an abstract interpretation of the cyclical nature of Western history?’

He laughed again, high and bright. ‘It’s my nursery class!’

‘Ah… Yes, I can see that now. And who’s this?’

‘That’s my teacher!’

‘And what’s she like, darling?’

‘She’s very nice. She’s got a codger spaniel.’

‘ _Cocker_ spaniel. And you deduced that how?’

‘She’s got hairs on her stockings when we get t’ school in the morning. They’re curly! An’ there’s a pitcher of a doggie on her desk.’

‘A _picture_ of a doggie. Very good. What else?’

He pointed. ‘That’s Jimmy.’

‘And what do we know about him?’

‘His mum’s gotta boyfriend. His dad finks he’s just a friend, but he brings Jimmy t’ school when his dad’s away an’ there’s lipstick on his collar.’

‘Well spotted. Best not say anything to Jimmy’s dad, darling; it doesn’t end well. Here’s a dour chap. What’s his story?’

‘That’s Petey. He’s grumpy ’cause I hit ’im.’

John’s head peeked around from the bedroom door, Hamish and bottle in hand. Sherlock smoothed Will’s hair. ‘Now, you know your papa wouldn’t like you hitting a boy at nursery.’

‘But you said I could unner extreme procreation!’

‘Provocation, yes. But I doubt he was provoking you to that extreme.’

‘But Daddy, you don’ know what he _said_!’

He pursed his lips. ‘You’re right, darling, I don’t know. I shouldn’t be chiding you without all of the facts. What did Petey say?’

‘He said somefing really mean.’

‘Yes? And what was that?’

Will’s eyes flicked to John, now standing at the mouth of the hallway. He leaned close to Sherlock and whispered in his ear, pulling back with a fearful look. Sherlock frowned.

‘Did he call you that?’

Will shook his head, eyes wide. He peeked at John once more. Sherlock mimicked his actions as realisation dawned.

‘He said that about Papa and me,’ he muttered.

Will nodded.

‘Do you know what that means, darling?’

He shook his head. ‘But he said it really mean. I didn’t like it. So’s I told ’im to stuff it and I--’ His high voice turned to a whisper as he hung his head. ‘I hit him.’

Sherlock hugged him close and kissed his cheek.

‘Are you angry, Daddy?’

‘No, darling, I’m not angry with you.’ He turned Will’s chin to face him. ‘You needn’t fight with Petey anymore, alright? He’s an idiot in a household full of idiots; he isn’t worth it.’

‘But what if he calls you that again?’

Sherlock pressed his forehead to Will’s, his voice low. ‘Then you tell him that your dad knows where to hide a body so no one will ever find it.’ Will giggled.

‘What was that?’ John called over, frown heavy in his tone.

‘He’s to hold his head high like a gentleman,’ he replied, winking at Will. He tried to wink back to little success.

‘And you say _I’m_ a terrible liar,’ John muttered as he wandered into the kitchen. The baby grumbled in agreement.

‘You won’t tell Papa, will you?’ Will whispered.

‘I won’t come right out with it, no. But you know I can’t lie to Papa.’

‘’Cause he’s got magical powers and he can read your thoughts!’

‘That’s right.’ Sherlock forced his expression to remain solemn. ‘So just think what he might do if he knows you’re fighting with Petey again.’

Will’s eyes widened. ‘That’d be scary…’

‘ _Very_ scary. So you must do what he says and leave Petey well enough alone. Agreed?’ He nodded. Sherlock squeezed him. ‘Excellent choice. Such an intelligent fellow. Best go and find Papa; he might know where the biscuits are.’ Will grinned and flopped off of his lap, racing for the kitchen. Sherlock watched him go with a smile before turning back to his work.

When he came up for air, there were two hands on him, easing the tension in his shoulders. He sighed into them. ‘Should I be concerned?’ asked a low, caramel-coloured voice near his ear.

‘What about?’ He allowed his neck to loll, his hand slipping away from the keyboard as his shoulders were drawn back into place.

‘About whatever it was you were just telling our son?’

Sherlock snorted softly. ‘He’s alright, John. He’s so much like you.’

‘I don’t think he gets punching the boys at nursery from me, love.’

He smiled and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the concerned face above him. ‘You’re probably right.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I’m quite disturbed about the things the other boys seem to be learning. They must have rather unstable home lives.’

‘And Will doesn’t?’

‘Does he?’

John rolled his eyes with a smile. ‘You do realise where he lives, don’t you?’

‘He seems to be in better shape than his contemporaries. At the very least, his vocabulary outshines theirs by a significant margin.’

‘Are you going to tell me what this Petey said or not?’

‘I am sworn to secrecy, John.’

‘I’ll make you beg.’

Sherlock licked his lips. ‘Devious.’

‘You knew that.’

He sighed, his hands sliding along John’s arms. ‘It was derogatory. Definitely not a word _I_ heard at nursery. I think William dealt with it in the best way possible.’

‘What, by clocking him?’ he chuffed.

‘Might make him think twice the next time. Aren’t you and Harry always telling me that bullies need to be stopped?’

‘He’s four years old.’

‘Early detection is the best treatment.’

John stared at him. ‘We’re not going to agree on this, are we?’

‘We are, but you won’t admit I’m right.’

‘He can’t be punching people.’

‘He didn’t. He punched one person who most certainly deserved it.’ His hand found the back of John’s neck, fingers toying with the trail of hair that led from the base of his skull. ‘He won’t do it again, I don’t think. Not unless something much worse is said. He knows there will be consequences at home.’

‘I don’t want him to be violent.’

‘He’s not; he’s terribly loyal. Lucky for us that loyalty is directed our way.’

‘Brilliant. At least he won’t be socking us in our sleep.’

‘You worry too much.’ His fingers threaded into John’s hair and he tugged him down for a long, slow kiss, a pleased hum escaping him as he sucked on his thin top lip. When he pulled back, John’s cheeks were flushed. He grinned.

‘That really wasn’t fair.’

‘I seem to recall someone saying I shouldn’t _play_ fair.’

‘ _I_ seem to recall someone saying I should make him beg for mercy.’

‘Ah, I believe that was you and it was a threat against me.’

‘And _you_ didn’t complain.’

‘You guys…’ They both glanced over to find Will frowning, his arms crossed as he stood at the front door. ‘You’re not s’posed to cuddle wifout me until I’m sleeping.’

‘I think cuddling is the last thing on your father’s mind, William.’ John squeezed his shoulders a bit harder than was at all necessary, only encouraging his mischievous grin.

‘You’re right, bug. Come here.’ He lifted Will up and blew a raspberry on his cheek. The boy deteriorated into giggles. ‘I thought you were helping Mrs Hudson make some biscuits.’

‘She said we’d have loads of biscuits if Daddy didn’t eat them all.’

John looked over to see Sherlock absorbed in the laptop, the very picture of innocent detachment. ‘Her mind’s going soft in her old age, John.’ He peeked at John briefly before his eyes flicked back to the screen. ‘Don’t look at me like that. A complete nutter, that woman.’

‘I’m sure,’ he drawled. He kissed Will’s cheek. ‘Your father’s lost to us again, Will. Shall we go to the shop until he comes 'round?’

‘D’you fink he’ll be long?’ He accepted his coat without complaint, yanking it on while John pulled his own from the hook by the door. ‘I’ve got more pitchers to show him.’

‘ _Pictures_ , darling,’ Sherlock muttered. ‘We went over that already.’

John smirked and shook his head before turning back to Will. ‘Shouldn’t take much time. He can’t resist the siren call of shortbread baking. A few things from Tesco and we’ll have him back again.’ He took Will’s hand as they headed for the stairs. ‘Good thing we know his secret weaknesses, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah!’ Will chimed. Sherlock smiled and returned to his work.

**Author's Note:**

> So far, everything I'm writing is existing in the same general AU that follows canon pretty closely (Series Title: A Thousand Apologies). Just, you know, for the record. There will be more; I just haven't written all of it yet.
> 
> I have nothing but gratitude and unconditional love for my offsite beta, Vincent 'Buttons' Price, who is an inspiration to me on a daily basis and requires frequent fwumping. If you are unfamiliar with fwumping, I am very sad on your behalf and volunteer to demonstrate on you should we ever be in the same place at the same time.
> 
> I don't own any of the characters I write about; I just love them to the depths of my heart and the tips of my toes. Please don't sue me, Steven Moffat. I already fear and admire you. Mark Gatiss, you can sue me, but only if you do it while dressed as Joan Crawford or Bamber Gascoigne. I'm not picky.


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